Read Online Surge by Katelin;katie LaMontagne - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katelin;katie LaMontagne
Ads: Link
to have an alarm.”
At this point, she drops her guard and bursts out a husky laugh that I should find insulting, but it has a completely different effect all together. The sight of her cheeks flushed with mirth, full red lips parted, and eyes dancing; rage war on my libido. I ignore it, with the exception of a discrete adjustment in my now tight cargos, to see if John has a clue about what she finds so funny. A look of puzzlement on his face as he observes her like she’s the missing link is all I get there, so I return my focus to the girl. Seeing the look of confusion on our faces, she sobers up.
“My god, you’re serious.”
Shoulder checking through us, well, it’s more of a rib check in her case; the girl curls a finger over her shoulder to show it’s alright to follow her. We weren’t moving out of fear of maiming without permission, and then we stay back at the appointed, ‘twenty feet, if you value your life.’ If I’m being the honest man that my mama raised me to be, I’ll admit that I might or might not have accidentally checked out her ass four times. Shut up, I’m a guy, it’s what we do. And who can resist beholding the piece of art I have the great pleasure of trailing after? Not me, that’s for damn sure.
Beautifully encased in the snug black leather, swinging side to side with unaware seduction, and surprisingly muscled thighs to complete the picture, our to-be-named escort comes to an abrupt stop in front of the display case. This leaves John, the depraved bastard, with no time to avert his eyes from her delightful derriere. I just about bare my teeth at John for wiping the bit of drool that escaped from his mouth and shout, ‘This one’s mine, you selfish prick!’ But I manage to catch myself at the last second, and look at the girl.
Her face full of amusement, which I highly doubt she’d be feeling if she were psychic, she points out a sign that reads, ‘Equipped with alarm. Will prosecute.’ In our defense, it’s fucking tiny. A little blue triangle that every store displays in their window to scare off petty teens and the store employees always ignore the obnoxious beeping that screams, ‘This fucker didn’t pay taxes! Get him!’
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes with what appears to be utmost sincerity. “I didn’t know you were illiterate.”
“We’re not illiterate,” John hisses to cover a rare case of embarrassment. “I didn’t see the fucking sign, alright? I screwed up, so thank you for saving our asses from my neglectful stupidity.”
The girl trains hard eyes on John in the most unnerving way; it looks like she actually could be psychic. But she must have just been battling some kind of internal debate, because she nods and sticks out her gloved hand.
“Olivia,” she states while shaking a stunned John’s hand. Turning to do the same to me, she meets my gaze before repeating, “My name’s Olivia.”
<~~~<~~~ ~~~>~~~>
Chapter Six:
“So, Olivia, huh?” John asks before stuffing another bite of granola in his mouth.
After her introduction, we decided to take a break before we finish scavenging for our goods. Locked tight in an office at the back of Hal’s House, Olivia’s sitting on the desk, cross legged and chowing on some delicious smelling soup in a screw top canister. I’m tempted to beg for a taste, but from the look she sent John when she began eating, she doesn’t like sharing.
“Olivia, what?” She returns absently without turning her attention away from her bowl of soup. She’s been staring at it for twenty minutes, like it holds to key to life, and has a weird smile on her face. Not weird like she looks creepy, but in a way that reveals smiling to not be something she does often; which is really a shame.
“Why’d you decide on telling us your name?” John presses. Olivia just shrugs and swirls her spoon around. “Are you full, ‘cause I can sure eat some more.” That gets her attention, her head snaps up and she blinks
At this point, she drops her guard and bursts out a husky laugh that I should find insulting, but it has a completely different effect all together. The sight of her cheeks flushed with mirth, full red lips parted, and eyes dancing; rage war on my libido. I ignore it, with the exception of a discrete adjustment in my now tight cargos, to see if John has a clue about what she finds so funny. A look of puzzlement on his face as he observes her like she’s the missing link is all I get there, so I return my focus to the girl. Seeing the look of confusion on our faces, she sobers up.
“My god, you’re serious.”
Shoulder checking through us, well, it’s more of a rib check in her case; the girl curls a finger over her shoulder to show it’s alright to follow her. We weren’t moving out of fear of maiming without permission, and then we stay back at the appointed, ‘twenty feet, if you value your life.’ If I’m being the honest man that my mama raised me to be, I’ll admit that I might or might not have accidentally checked out her ass four times. Shut up, I’m a guy, it’s what we do. And who can resist beholding the piece of art I have the great pleasure of trailing after? Not me, that’s for damn sure.
Beautifully encased in the snug black leather, swinging side to side with unaware seduction, and surprisingly muscled thighs to complete the picture, our to-be-named escort comes to an abrupt stop in front of the display case. This leaves John, the depraved bastard, with no time to avert his eyes from her delightful derriere. I just about bare my teeth at John for wiping the bit of drool that escaped from his mouth and shout, ‘This one’s mine, you selfish prick!’ But I manage to catch myself at the last second, and look at the girl.
Her face full of amusement, which I highly doubt she’d be feeling if she were psychic, she points out a sign that reads, ‘Equipped with alarm. Will prosecute.’ In our defense, it’s fucking tiny. A little blue triangle that every store displays in their window to scare off petty teens and the store employees always ignore the obnoxious beeping that screams, ‘This fucker didn’t pay taxes! Get him!’
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes with what appears to be utmost sincerity. “I didn’t know you were illiterate.”
“We’re not illiterate,” John hisses to cover a rare case of embarrassment. “I didn’t see the fucking sign, alright? I screwed up, so thank you for saving our asses from my neglectful stupidity.”
The girl trains hard eyes on John in the most unnerving way; it looks like she actually could be psychic. But she must have just been battling some kind of internal debate, because she nods and sticks out her gloved hand.
“Olivia,” she states while shaking a stunned John’s hand. Turning to do the same to me, she meets my gaze before repeating, “My name’s Olivia.”
<~~~<~~~ ~~~>~~~>
Chapter Six:
“So, Olivia, huh?” John asks before stuffing another bite of granola in his mouth.
After her introduction, we decided to take a break before we finish scavenging for our goods. Locked tight in an office at the back of Hal’s House, Olivia’s sitting on the desk, cross legged and chowing on some delicious smelling soup in a screw top canister. I’m tempted to beg for a taste, but from the look she sent John when she began eating, she doesn’t like sharing.
“Olivia, what?” She returns absently without turning her attention away from her bowl of soup. She’s been staring at it for twenty minutes, like it holds to key to life, and has a weird smile on her face. Not weird like she looks creepy, but in a way that reveals smiling to not be something she does often; which is really a shame.
“Why’d you decide on telling us your name?” John presses. Olivia just shrugs and swirls her spoon around. “Are you full, ‘cause I can sure eat some more.” That gets her attention, her head snaps up and she blinks
Similar Books
